261 The Magician 19 (1/2)
The spectral bear raised up on hindquarters and roared at Orison and the woman both. ”The witches demanded it when they threatened my life and the life of my descendants! Now you say no!? Stranger and familiar one alike, man-things are no good things at all! You have until sunset and then I no longer care. Live or die, I will hunt all man-things off my territory.”
The spectral bear lead their descendants away. Orison signaled to his group and started walking on. He didn't bother to pacify his energy. The moment he did, he was certain that the witch or one of the handful of witches and ranger-like folks in the woods would kill him on the spot.
The owl masked woman said, ”Stranger what do you do here? I demand you speak to me at once!”
The witch's intent sunk into Orison's inner space like a drop of rain into a well.
”I already told the annoying bear. Ask them. I don't like repeating myself,” the young mage said as he plodded on, Cole and Adam sticking close and exuding nerve snapping tension.
As they walked, The small battalion of female casters and rangers kept a circle around them. The young mage could tell that there was a diviner among them trying to figure out the right course to subdue or kill him. He couldn't be bothered. He just slowly kept adding conditions that would cause him to 'nuke'. The first of which was to be stopped or lose consciousness.
During the tense two hour walk, his would be executioners ended up being unwilling bodyguards. At one point, a ranger took a weird attack from a dryad startled by the unstable energy into unleashing some kind of attack that killed with 'beauty' alone. Out of strange whimsy, Orison slowed down to resuscitate the ranger who shielded his sight. A touch of mixed healing and mending with a hard, intent augmented chest thump did the trick but it would take the man some time to fully recover.
During that time, pact shadows sent complaints that their ability to act as proxy patrons had temporarily been disabled but there was no helping that. To keep the status quo, he had to be a walking time-bomb or they would all die. When the shadowy sprite that Orison had slipped out to collect wild herbs during their trip, handed him another sprig of lavender, he was about to break the deadlock when a witch screamed out to widen the circle.
”Get off it and scry what I'm about to do instead of trying to find ways to kill me, you nasty c*nts,” the young mage growled at them.
At her wits end and on the verge of fainting, the owl masked witch did just that. For a moment, she looked like she was going to throw caution to the wind and order an attack before she paused and gasped into the dour silence.
Orison thought it over and asked, ”How many are there?”
The owl masked woman said, ”There are eighteen known. According to legend, there should be twenty-seven.”
”If you'll get highest possible promises of safe passage, comfortable accommodations for the duration of our stay and all the books on magic theory your people possess, you have a deal for the eighteen that you know of,” the young mage said.
The whirlwind exchange of deals that commenced were epic. By the time he was done brokering them, Orison's organs were on the verge of failing from the sheer amount of radical essence particles bombarding him internally. His brain was on the verge of metaphorically melting from all the assurances, promises and spiritually augmented oaths sworn on both sides to ensure peace. He hated it immensely.
Standing face to face with a withered old crone as he stabilized his energy, Orison said, ”I truly feel pity for any enemy of this country if this is the treatment of a potential ally.”
With a bitter grimace that would teach Elder Liu a thing or two, she replied, ”As you should. We don't readily make allies because we do not need them. The Vrajitoare are custodians of this cursed land for a reason.”
After a badly needed day of recuperation in the field, cozy tent and rustic catering grudgingly provided, the young mage went to meet the guardian of the first 'demon finger'. It wasn't some mythical being, just an old man and his nearly adult son. The son's soul rang a bell of familiarity and brought to mind the image of a horse. It took some soul searching but Orison placed it.
With a complex look in his eyes, the young mage said, ”Would the two of you like to accompany us to see the end of your need to be tethered here?”
The son looked excited enough but the father frowned. The old man's whole purpose was wrapped up into being the hereditary guardian of that monolith. Once it was gone, so was the pride it gave to his family.
Orison turned to the ancient witch who accompanied the group. ”I would like to tithe a third of the vulgar wealth we have agreed upon to this young man here. He is the reason I was drawn to this place.”
Now, the father and son BOTH looked worried for several reasons.
The old witched raked her icy eyes over the father/son pair and said, ”And why would this unassuming lad draw your attention?”
Orison sighed in a released sense of vaguely melancholy nostalgia. ”In another life, another place, I knew him as my godson. He was the husband of my only daughter and she gave up following me on the path of ascension to be with him. I was devastated at the time but he was a good husband. They lived a fulfilling life in that branch of what ifs that never got to be.”
The young mage met eyes with the 'almost' young man. ”The origin of your soul is tied to the spiritual symbol of the horse as it relates to the hunter. Anything related to them, you will have talent in. Internalizing the symbol through meditation will allow you to awaken the gifts belonging to the horse.”
The father didn't seem to care for that revelation much. Since his own house held the hart totem, that was no wonder. The horse held many similarities and different advantages that would make it a natural contender for attention. The old woman's impatience and withering look kept things moving along anyway.
Under the father's helpless gaze, his house's claim to prestige was slowly crumbling away under Orison's touch as his son gained insight on the art of meditation from the young mage. In the hour that it took to finish the process of turning the red veined monolith into another gray and ancient standing stone, Amos gained some appreciation for his one time godfather. Sadly, the old witch wasn't sentimental in the slightest.
Using some form of druidic type understandings, the old witch traveled the young mage to five more locations before Orison had to enforce a rest. ”I need a little less than a week to process what I've taken from these. Taking anymore today would be dangerous.”
The old witch said, ���Very well. I can expect the same amount at that time then.”
The young mage quickly protested. ”No. Two, maybe three if they're pretty much all the same. After another week, the third run will be large enough that the fourth will be quick. It's an awfully large assumption to expect the situation to stay the same with no changes, though.”
”Should we be 'expecting' changes from you?” she said warily.
Orison shrugged helplessly. ”I'm not capable of seeing the future. The past, I can to a minor degree.”
She snorted. ”Anyone can see the past to a minor degree.”
Orison smirked. ”Then a change of topic? How about the young man you had beaten for wasting materials on a magic item YOU caused him to ruin?”
Giving him a menacing smile, she said, ”So, you admit to breaking the clause about scrying of secrets?”
The young mage gave her dead eyes right back. ”You wish. It's in the brightest of branches right before your arrival to hash out our contract. And if you tell me using spices in our food that lead to a more pliant disposition isn't skirting malicious acts, I'll spit in your face and kill us all right now. Keep the drugs out of our food.”
According to the agreement, only one of his two companions would be allowed to roam the settlement and the other would have to be cooped up with him in the male mage compound. It was severe discrimination but with good reason. Their neighbors and worst enemies were wizards primarily comprised of men who held similar yet slightly less extreme prejudice. Sadly, they were also slavers and magical elitists as well.